Repercussions
by redexted
Summary: Arthur is frustrated because of both his mission and the ongoing conflicts in the House. Noon tries to calm him down, but gets a little something in return instead. How sweetly embarrassing. NoonArthur implied.


I unexpectedly stumbled into this fandom without knowing how _interesting_ things can get between Arthur and the other Times/Morrow Days. xD This is just something random, but I hope it's reasonable enough as a KttK fic.

Enjoy!

(Edit: each Time of Day is only one-third of a Denizen, and therefore cannot be really referred to as 'a Denizen'. A mistake on my part.)

Disclaimer: All related characters and elements are (c) Garth Nix.

Monday's Noon/Arthur implied.

**Repercussions**

* * *

Arthur stormed into the Dayroom and slammed the door shut, face flushed with hot anger. How dared they. _How dared they._ No doubt the sudden outburst was uncalled for, but they didn't have to laugh so incredulously at his words and attack him so openly. Especially Saturday's Dusk. _You may not be so willing to assume your position as the Rightful Heir,_ he had said smoothly with an artful smile, _but be rest assured that we, the Times of the rest of the Morrow Days, will certainly aid you in achieving your ultimate aspiration._

It was a downright mockery, a challenge by alliances so bent on destroying him. All because Arthur had exposed his mortal weaknesses at the wrong moment of time.

Arthur slumped into the high velvet chair behind the clattered desk, trying to catch his breath while running a careless hand through his hair. He suddenly wished he hadn't dashed from the meeting in such a hurry; his lungs were already beginning to tighten. And that meant something when he was _inside_ the House.

There was a series of soft knocks on the polished wooden door. "Milord?" came a voice behind it. Arthur did not answer.

Almost half a minute later the door creaked open, and Monday's Noon peered in. "Milord?" he asked again, smiling lightly as he noted the Heir's presence in the room. Arthur merely sighed.

"I didn't say you could come in," he said shortly.

"And neither did you mention I could not, milord," Noon replied. He went over to the other side of the desk, tidying up the documents and folders clattered on it. "Perhaps you could say I had a hunch that you would come here after all."

"Of course I'd be here," Arthur muttered, rather bitterly. "Wouldn't have chosen to stay in the Middle House and let them see how _weak_ I actually am, would I?"

Noon paused in his task. "It was not as bad as you think, milord," he said gently.

"Don't call me that," said Arthur angrily, turning to his side so that his head faced the wall instead. "You don't know what it's like, Noon. To be forced in doing something you really don't want to do, and then facing all those people who are just dying to watch you fail. It's just . . ." He bent a knee towards his chin and clutched a handful of his hair. "It's just demoralising."

"I have faith in you, Arthur," Noon said, in a quiet voice.

"Faith?" Arthur repeated, chuckling mirthlessly. "Faith is never enough, you know. I need the ability to handle all this, the motivation to prove my worth. But I don't have them." His fingers uncurled. "I don't even _want_ to be the Heir or anything.

"I still don't know why everyone else still thinks that I can do it," he continued, his voice lowering with every sentence. "And they've all heard me, right? They've all seen what I really am. A flawed human being. Some sickly mortal that Monday — and the Will — randomly picked from Earth. Like I'm really fit to be the Rightful Heir. Like I really want to be part of all this mess."

"But do you not see how matters and administrations in the House have turned for the better soon after your arrival, Arthur?" Noon interjected in his hoarse whisper. "By leading us and bringing down the other Trustees, you are emancipating the thousands of other Denizens from possible dangers and slavery. Not to mention preventing the greatest creation of the Architect from collapsing onto itself, in a way," he added.

Arthur raised his eyes to look at Noon. "But don't you see?" he insisted, uncurling himself from the safety of the chair. "_That_ is what they all think I'm capable of! And the way I . . . flared up just now, saying that what? That I just want to go back home, back to my own world and not care about whatever that happens here! That I would _prefer_ to be anything other than being in this House!" He shook his head wearily as he found himself echoing the displeasure he had voiced out earlier during the meeting. "I'm too honest for my own good, Noon. I told them what I really felt and what they never would've wanted to hear. And even if they'd once hoped that I really could succeed, I don't think they're going to be so convinced this time."

Noon tilted his head very slightly to one side as he took in Arthur's words. "Words neither last nor impact as much as actions do, milord," The Time replied simply, ignoring the boy's dirty look at the appellation. "And all the more you should not let them exploit your weaknesses, and show that they are indeed able to manipulate you for their own ends. The Will does not operate on its own, Arthur."

"I can see that," Arthur muttered, picking at the dried wax on the underside of a wooden stamp from the desk. "The way Dame Primus always arrives after all the damage has been done and just before I get finished off. Just what is keeping her back all the time, anyway?"

Noon smiled. "Helping to keep the other domains of the House in order, like you are supposed to. It is much about diligence, cooperation and honesty, after all. And if it were up to me, I would rather the Chosen One be forthright and perfectly aware of all the occurrences around him, than be mendacious and constantly in denial of his various responsibilities."

Arthur couldn't help but grin. "You really hated Monday, didn't you?" he commented, noting the slight frown on Noon's face.

"In my humble opinion Mister Monday was not an ideal master, but let us just leave it as that," came Noon's — rather stiff — reply.

"You're saying all this just because Monday's not here anymore, right?" Arthur laughed. "No wonder you were his Dusk during his reign!"

Noon chose not to point out how the person he had betrayed Monday to help had, eventually, promoted him to the most important Time of the Day, but was nevertheless glad that he had somehow elevated Arthur from his temporary bout of self-abhorrence. "Standing in the shadows is more than enough to let you see the light better," the Time of Day said, bowing to Arthur. "I thank you for your benevolence, milord."

"Don't you start that again," Arthur grumbled, replacing the stamp back onto its stand. "Just call me Arthur, okay? I can't stand all these —" he stretched his arms and yawned — "formalities when I'm still so young . . . No offence, Noon," he mumbled.

"Of course not," Noon said easily. He proceeded to Arthur's side of the desk and placed a tidied stack of documents at the left corner with one hand, while holding a detailed list in the other. "Would you like me to go through the rest of the plans concerning the resurrection of the Far Reaches and the Middle House, which we did not have the chance to go through during the meeting?"

There was no answer.

Noon looked up from the list. "Arthur?"

Arthur's eyes were closed. "It's still Thursday, right?" he murmured, letting his arm drop over the side of the chair. "I'm dead tired, Noon. And since I'm not allowed to go back, I might as well just sleep. I don't want to fight anyone else right now. Or argue with you either. Or listen to all that . . . all that . . ." His voice trailed off.

Noon placed the document on the table. "If you wish, milord." He waited for a glare or an irritated snap of some sorts, but there wasn't any. Arthur already had his head dipped to one side, seemingly fast asleep. For a moment Noon pondered, and then bent down to gingerly pick the young Heir up into his arms, carrying him forth to the four-poster at the other end of the Dayroom.

As Arthur was lowered down onto the bedcovers, he stirred and opened his eyes sleepily. "Oh," he uttered, as he registered what was happening. Noon withdrew his arms and took a small step back, bowing slightly. "My apologies if I have overstepped my boundaries, milord," he muttered quickly, a slight flush on his face.

"No, it's okay." Arthur waved a listless hand, then patted the side of the bed. "Come over and sit down, if you like."

Noon, rather hesitantly, accepted the invitation. That was what differed Arthur from Monday, he thought. The boy treated him almost like a friend. Not a lowly slave.

"I'd have preferred to sleep here anyway. This feels much better than that stupid velvet chair . . ." He pulled the thick blankets up to his chin, and smiled idly to himself. "Funny you all never seem to need any sleep at all," he mumbled.

"Sleep is but luxury to inhabitants of the House, milord," Noon explained softly. "Perhaps due to their ability to heal and recuperate with such immediacy, but an ample amount of rest is still required from time to time."

As he waited for a reply, Noon observed the way Arthur curled and uncurled his toes under the bedcovers. There was something strangely intriguing about that action; it was almost . . . too private.

He was quite certain the boy did not take in what he had said earlier, and so was rather surprised when Arthur suddenly sat up, the bedcovers falling to his waist. "M— Arthur?" Noon blurted.

"One more thing," Arthur said. Then came Noon's second surprise as the Heir wrapped his arms around him, pulling the two of them into an embrace.

"Thank you, Noon," Arthur's voice floated softly from below, "for believing in me and helping me all this while. I really wouldn't have been here alive and all that if you hadn't come down to the Deep Coal Cellar on Monday." His arms tightened slightly around Noon, who was left utterly speechless. "You're almost like Eric. My brother. Or even my Dad. I just . . . thank you for — for taking care of and looking out for me all this while."

Noon looked down at Arthur, feeling the heat on his own face as the boy's words sank in. Slowly and uncertainly — yet almost too willingly — he placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder and another on his soft hair. At that moment in time he merely wished he didn't have his white gloves on. "It's . . . my honour, milord," he whispered, rather lamely. Not that he expected to say anything more indicative than that, anyway.

Arthur, on the other hand, did not seem to mind that answer. He pulled away from his advisor and smiled lightly up at him, picking at the collar of his own shirt. "I hope I hadn't overstepped my boundaries, either," the boy said, a little too coyly.

The Time of Day pulled back his arms once more, but chose not to say anything to Arthur's words this time. He stood up just as Arthur lay back down onto the bed and pulled up the blankets again, turning to the side so that he conveniently faced the wall. Which was just as well.

Noon tried to imagine Arthur's expression, but failed quite miserably. "Shall I take my leave now, milord?" he asked gently.

The Heir did not answer. But Noon merely smiled, and bowed deeply at him. "Rest well, milord," he whispered.

As he reached the door and opened it, Noon turned to look at Arthur once more. Arthur looked like he really was asleep this time, and that in turn brought another small smile to Noon's face as he exited the Dayroom and closed the door quietly behind him.

– – –

_Optional continuation:  
_  
"So you have been here, _Noon,_" someone said in a smooth voice, putting an emphasis all too obviously on the last word. Noon turned around to see Monday's Dusk, striding over to his brother. Apparently Dusk was still displeased by the switching of roles with Noon to be demoted to the least significant Time of Day.

"Lord Arthur came over right after leaving the meeting," Noon replied matter-of-factly, proceeding to walk down the corridor. "I had to relate to him what he would have missed."

Dusk gave a rather knowing chuckle as he followed Noon. "Words spread fast, brother. He does not need you telling him what is going to occur in the near future," he sniffed. "He has the likes of Dame Primus and Monday's Tierce to take care of that." Dusk deliberately paused in his words. "Or should I say — you know him so much better, do you not? Plus, he would rather you be the one explaining things to him . . ."

Noon's footsteps slowed, and then stopped. "I do not quite get what you mean, brother," he said carefully, turning his head slightly to eye Dusk.

Dusk laughed openly this time, his silver tongue catching the bright lights of the corridor. "You amuse me greatly, brother," Dusk said, placing a hand on Noon's shoulder. "I am aware of your fondness for the Rightful Heir," he continued — although still somewhat unsupportive of Arthur's inclusion in the House, "but you do not have to deny it to that extent. Those . . . protective gestures you exhibited towards the boy during the meeting — and including the countless ones before — are more than enough to prove your insistence wrong.

"And you are right, Noon . . ." Dusk went on deviously, patting Noon like an elder brother would, "Taking a break from the light and standing in the dark _does_ help one to see some things more clearly . . ."

And as though having gained enough pleasure to last him through the next few millennia, Dusk laughed again, overtaking his twin and continuing his journey through the Lower House, leaving Noon standing in the middle of the hallway, completely astounded. What Dusk had missed was, in fact, the growing shade of red on Noon's face.

Noon raised his gloved hands and looked at them carefully, still feeling the softness he had felt earlier. Then he closed his eyes with a silent sigh.

Had he really been _that_ obvious?

_-fin-_

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I don't know what kind of story this is. Something very vaguely fluffy? But anyway reviews and comments are more than welcome. Thanks very much! :D


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